


You Make Loving Fun

by Trixeroli



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28366905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixeroli/pseuds/Trixeroli
Summary: After the newsies win against Pulitzer, Davey starts to notice Spot acting... weird.
Relationships: Spot Conlon/David Jacobs
Kudos: 28





	You Make Loving Fun

Davey watched as the newsies flooded the square, celebrating Pulitzer’s concession. All around him, they embraced, cheered, and jumped for joy. Next to him, Crutchie threw his arms around Davey’s waist, yelling into Davey’s ear. He tried not to flinch, instead widening his smile and wrapping an arm around the other boy. 

Across the square, Davey caught sight of Spot and the other Brooklyn newsies. While most of the Brooklyn newsies were slowly mingling with everyone else, Spot stood off to the side, just observing the festivities. Propelled by some unknown force, Davey made his way across the square and approached Spot.

“Is there any reason you’re not celebrating with everyone else?” Davey almost regretted the words as soon as he said them. Spot turned to look at him, his gaze cool and level. 

“What’s it to you, Mouth?”

“Nothing. Just wondering. This is a big win for us- you can be happy.”   
  


“Sure.” There was an odd lilt in Spot’s voice that Davey didn’t understand, like he had something to be… not  _ sad _ , per se, but  _ not happy _ about. 

***

“We’ve been havin’ a little trouble with other newsies sellin’ on our turf. Know anythin’ about that, Ash?” Tiger, the leader of Flushing narrowed her eyes at Ash, the leader of Queens. 

“An’ what’s that supposed to mean, Tiger?” Dammit, Davey thought. The first meeting between the leaders of the New York City newsies had hardly started, and tensions were already growing. Both leaders started rising out of their seats,

“Alright!” Davey interjected quickly, before Ash or Tiger could get more agitated. “How about this- Ash, remind your people where the border of Flushing and Queens is. Wait, hold on. And Tiger, you don’t have to jump down anyone’s throat. If you see someone new selling on your turf, assume they’re new and give them a warning.” 

Davey looked between the two hot-headed leaders and tried to give them his best stern face. Surprisingly, they both slowly relaxed into their chairs almost grudgingly. Their features relaxed, and they looked expectantly at Davey. Davey felt a thrill of excitement shoot through him. Was this what Jack felt? All the eyes were on him, watching to see what he would do next. He wasn’t used to being in the spotlight- it was a weird feeling, but not entirely unpleasant. It was, however, uncomfortable. Davey quickly redirected the conversation and sagged back in his chair, thankful for the attention to be elsewhere.

As he listened to the conversation about inter-borough relations, however, the hair on the back of his neck stood up as he felt someone’s eyes on him. Discreetly, he scanned the table, and caught sight of Spot. He was openly staring at Davey, an unrecognizable expression on his face. Davey’s stomach did a flip when their eyes met. Wait- was Davey seeing things? That must be it- there’s no way Spot could be smiling at him.

***

A few days later found Davey playing an evening game of Leaves and Rocks with a few younger newsies. Four sticks were laid on the floor, arranged in a criss-cross pattern, with a leaf or a rock in most of the squares. They had just cleared the board when they were interrupted by a knocking on the lodging house door. All conversations ceased as dozens of pairs of eyes swung toward the door. Almost no one ever knocked on the door, even fewer did it so late. Specs, who was the closest to the door, was the first to move.

“Um, whaddya- woah!” He jumped back from the doorway as Spot stalked in, glowering. Davey scrambled to his feet, hoping to keep the peace.

“Where’s Kelly?” Spot walked into the middle of the room, sweeping his gaze across the newsies huddled together. Davey rose quickly from his seat, eager to head off Spot and redirect his anger.

“Jack ain’t here right now. Can I help ya instead?” Davey’s heart pounded in his throat, hoping that Spot would agree. Spot slowly looked Davey up and down, something about his features softening. But when he spoke, he had the same hard tone as before.

“Fine, Mouth. I guess ya can fix it.” 

“Let’s go outside to talk.” Taking a chance, Davey walked past Spot and gestured for him to leave through the open door, and thankfully, Spot exited through the door. Davey followed, glancing back at the newsies before closing the door behind himself.

As Davey stepped out into the night, Spot turned to face him. Davey’s heart jumped into his throat again. 

“What’s going on, Spot?”

“I got a problem with some guy sellin’ on my turf. Not Race, all my guys know him. Someone else. And from what I hear, he’s ‘Hattan.” Spot fixed Davey with a look that seemed to ask him  _ ‘What are you going to do about it?’ _

“I ain’t heard anything about that, so thanks for tellin’ me, Spot. I’ll talk to my people about stayin’ in Manhattan to sell.” Spot looked at him, another unrecognizable expression on his face. 

“Good. Don’t let it happen again, Mouth.” Spot turned on his heel and walked away without another word. Puzzled, Davey went back inside the lodging house. Moving through the main room, he approached Race, who was laying on a couch with Albert.

“Hey, Race, have you heard word of a ‘Hattan kid, or any kid who ain’t Brooklyn, sellin’ there?” Race thought for a minute before responding.

“Nah, Ise the only one who ain’t Brooklyn who sells there. I think Hotshot woulda told me, and he ain’t said nothin’. Joey ain’t either. Why?”

“Uh, no reason. Thanks.” 

***

When Davey got home from the monthly inter-borough meeting and tried to sit on his bed, he felt something hard poke him. Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out a small, smooth stone. That’s odd, he thought. He didn’t remember picking up any stone that day. He studied it as he turned it over in his hands, and realized it looked familiar. 

Finally, Davey realized where he had seen it- in Spot’s hand. Spot had been tossing and catching it during the meeting. So how did it get in Davey’s pocket? Had another borough leader stolen it and put it in Davey’s pocket? The only person who had been close enough to do that was… when Spot bumped into him.

Hours later, Davey lay awake in bed, trying to put the pieces together. Was Spot acting weird, or was that how he normally acted? Granted, Davey hadn’t known Spot before the strike, but giving Davey his slingshot stone didn’t seem like something a tough Brooklyn leader would normally do. What was going on?

***

The front door was thrown open, and Spot stalked into the lodging house. If Davey’s leg hadn’t been busted, he would’ve ran from the room at Spot’s dark expression. Immediately, Spot’s eyes went to Davey’s leg, where Jack was trying to bandage it. 

“Out. Everyone, out! Now! Get the hell out!” The Manhattan newsies scrambled towards the steps, then most of them paused. With a glare from Spot, they all scurried up the stairs. Only Jack remained, holding the bandage. 

“Spot-”

“I got that. Gimme the dratted bandage.” Spot demanded. Jack looked to Davey for confirmation, and when he nodded, handed the bandage over and went up the stairs. Davey turned his attention to Spot, who was silently wrapping the cloth around his leg. 

“Spot, why’re you here?” Spot just shrugged, and continued wrapping Davey’s leg.

“Heard ya had a run in with a bull. Wanted t’ make sure you were ok.” 

“So you came all th’ way from Brooklyn? Nah. Why’re you really here?” Davey sat up and grabbed Spot’s hand, forcing him to stop wrapping his leg. Spot looked up, meeting his eyes with a tender, almost scared expression.

“Fine. I like ya, ok? I fuckin’ like ya, Davey.” Spot sighed and stepped back from the couch, putting his head in his hands. 

“Spot. C’mere.” Davey took hold of Spot’s arm and gently tugged him closer. Slowly, Spot raised his head and looked in Davey’s eyes, apprehension evident in his own. “I like you too.”

Confusion, suspicion, and doubt all flashed across Spot’s face in quick succession. He studied Davey’s face, and Davey tried to keep his features as honest as he could. 

“Really?” Davey could tell Spot was still hesitant to believe him, so he proved it the best way he could think of. He pulled Spot toward him, cupped his face, and pressed their lips together. Davey felt Spot tense under his hand momentarily, then relaxed into the kiss, one hand coming up to grip the back of Davey’s neck while the other rested on his arm. 

They broke apart after a few minutes, both gasping for breath. 

“Do you believe me? I like ya, Spot. I do.”

“Yeah. Ok. Uhm… ok.” 

***

  
  


Weeks later, Spot and Davey laid on an old mattress on the roof of the Brooklyn lodging house, limbs intertwined, staring up at the stars. Davey glanced over at Spot, and something occurred to him.

“That night you came to the ‘Hatten lodging house about a kid sellin’ in Brooklyn- what was that about? You never said anythin’ else about that kid, and Race said he hadn’t heard anythin’.” Under the light of the moon, Davey saw Spot turn bright red and look away.

“I… I wanted an excuse to see ya. Which is lame now that I say it out loud. I just… I dunno.”

“You’re adorable. Come here.” With that, Davey turned Spot’s face towards him and kissed him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr @superpaperclip!


End file.
